I like the idea of Indian laughing clubs, but I go to actual comedy events to get my laughs. Both laughing clubs and comedy gigs come into this story. The germ of the story came from me going to the Roxbury Hotel comedy nights. The Roxbury is in Glebe, in Sydney, in Australia, where there’s usually a showcase for new comics.
The story took off from there. Lots of comedy is about unsuccessful relationships, unsuccessful sex. People identify – we’ve all been there, or at least most of us have. That means the audience identifies with the comic and we laugh. (You do wonder about people who haven’t been there, don’t you? Perhaps they’re insensitive or worse, they are extraordinarily beautiful and sensitive people)
But sometimes, I sense that for the comic, and maybe for the audience, it’s more than a laugh, it is actually tragic and very painful. So this story looks at all of that.
But the story isn’t tragic. It has an almost happy ending.